


Home Sweet Home

by deedeeinfj



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius has to move</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on Livejournal, 2003.

Trade one prison for another. That's what they were asking. Well, the Dementors didn't break him, maybe his childhood home could do the job. He'd be safe there. Home, sweet home. Lesson learned: never offer abandoned hell of a house in gesture of kindness to thrown-together rebel group in need of headquarters. Dumbledore couldn't know what he asked. Obviously didn't understand that a fugitive gets a bit spoiled after a year of freedom. Starts to like freedom, even when it involves eating rats. Sure as hell beats a prison. Most certainly beats 12 Grimmauld Place.

How many years since he'd been there? Almost twenty? No matter. However many, it hadn't been enough. And there was no reason why he couldn't stay here at Remus'. Here in his own comfortable bedroom, since Remus seemed to have forgotten quite a few things.

Forgotten a great deal, actually.

And Dumbledore's reassurances meant nothing. What did it matter that she died, that no one lived there? Did they all think that he'd like the idea of being alone? That after fourteen years, he couldn't bear to live with anyone? That he was unfit to live with anyone? Whatever favor Dumbledore had earned with his instructions to "lie low at Lupin's," it was gone now.

He paced up and down the room, fingers curling and uncurling, a dog flexing his claws against a nonexistent attacker. Unmade bed, crooked rug, hints of muted orange light as the sun began to inch down toward the open window.

He heard a knock, stared at the door, and ignored it.

 _Bit of self-pity going on in here. No one invited._  He'd rather be alone -- better get used to it anyway.

"Sirius?"

He would simply refuse to go. What right did Dumbledore have to tell a grown man where to go and what to do? And why did Remus knock on the door again? Suddenly he thought it a good idea for them to be in the same bedroom?

"Is this door locked, Sirius?"

"Yes."

It wasn't, and Remus knew it wasn't. The knob turned, and the door creaked open. "Dumbledore's gone."

"Good."

"He's only trying to help you, you know." The voice was quiet and tired; full moon tonight. Close, too, because the sun was sinking fast. "You could stop acting like a first-year."

He didn't look at Remus. If he was acting like a first-year, at least he'd be a free first-year. A first-year in the south of France, perhaps. The Mediterranean. Hawaii. He had served his time with the Order of the Phoenix many years ago. Yes, he had certainly served his time.

Remus hadn't moved from the doorway. From the corner of his eye, Sirius could see only the thin silhouette, a slumped, dark shape blocking the light from the hall. "I know what you're thinking," said Remus.

"Do you."

He turned and stared at Remus, whose face was barely visible in the shadow of the doorframe. This wasn't how he imagined things when he saw Remus bursting through the door of the Shack a year ago. After so much time spent in despair, it had been nice to feel hope for a change. Now he was slowly realizing that some things really were lost. And did that come as any surprise? The familiar voices, the lingering echoes of the Dementors, reminded him that his distrust of Remus lost him -- lost them both -- twelve years.

"What am I thinking?" he asked, surprised to find that his voice was warmer than he'd intended.

"That he's trying to lock you up again. That you're going to be alone again." Remus paused. "That you lost some things you can never have again."

"I can't go back to that house, Remus." Long strips of light spilled onto the floor, slanting into a corner and up the wall.

"Yes, you can. And think of it. You'll live at headquarters. You'll always be in the center of everything. The first to know whatever happens. There will be so much you can do to help. I'm sure Dumbledore will think of things for you to do in disguise. And if I remember correctly, it's a very large house. You'd have room for guests and... old friends."

Slivers of orange and rose inched across the wooden boards, and Sirius heard the clock in the hall ticking. He realized suddenly that he hadn't done this for fourteen years -- this monthly ritual of watching the light fade, listening to the clock, waiting for the time when Remus would have to leave with Madam Pomfrey, not to be seen again until morning in the hospital wing, bruised and bloodied. Then, later, anticipating the time when he could run through the Forest with the stag, the wolf, and the rat. The full moon had once dictated a pattern for everything he did, a pattern he'd long forgotten. But for Remus, that pattern had never gone away, and never would. Moony knew what it was to be a prisoner. And tonight, for the first time in many years, he would not go through it alone. If Sirius had his way, Remus would never go through it alone again.

"You would visit me?" Sirius asked. "At Grimmauld Place?"

Remus finally stepped into the room, and the shadows slid from his face. "I know you don't want to be there alone," he said quietly. "And I would want to be with you."

Sirius studied him, from the graying hair to the dark circles under the eyes to the patches on the robes. So life had kicked both of them in the ass. Was that an excuse to shrug and let everything go? When a Slytherin curses you, you laugh and think of ways to get him back. "Remus, are you... are we..."

"I need to get ready, Sirius," said Remus, tilting his head and directing his gaze toward the window. "Long night, you know. I'll try not to disturb you." He pressed a weary hand to the back of his neck, turned, and left. He shut the door with a soft scrape behind him.

Sirius walked to the window and folded his arms, staring as the sun sank lower and lower. What should he say, and was there any point in saying it? "Remus, for Merlin's sake, I want you. Now. It has been too long." A little too shallow and desperate, that. "Remus, I never stopped lov--" No. Melodramatic. Awful, really. He shut the window and paced the room.

Fortunately, there was one option that seemed very easy, even if it only lasted one evening. Remus had lost his mind if he thought that Sirius would lie awake all night, listening to the werewolf on the other side of the wall. As if Sirius wouldn't jump at the chance to regain this piece of the past. Moony would have company tonight, and Padfoot could curl up next to someone warm, someone who didn't want to steal every happy memory. He could be next to the wolf in a way that the man apparently no longer welcomed. Sirius opened the door calmly and paused, almost smiling. Padfoot was always the way to escape, wasn't he? He transformed in the hall and made his way to Moony's room. Pawed at the door.

* * *

Remus forced open heavy eyelids and blinked against the sunlight that blanketed the room, even in the corner where he reclined against the wall. On his lap lay the heavy head of a large, black dog, its stomach rising and falling in deep sleep. They must have fallen asleep just before dawn. He tried to shift a little to ease the aching in his muscles, but the dog laid a paw on his knees in silent protest. Smiling, he lifted a hand, prepared to bury it in the thick fur, but paused just as his fingertips grazed the wispy ends. He withdrew his hand quickly, even now unsure why he felt this distance, an inexplicable need for caution. Hadn't they been alone long enough? Padfoot had never acted the way he did the night before, constantly close as if he feared the wolf would leave him, in spite of the locked door and windows. And yet, Padfoot had been there. Remus ached from falling asleep on the floor, but he didn't need to check his body for wounds that needed bandages. He had passed the night in peace.

"Sirius?" he said quietly. This time he allowed himself to touch the dog, to scratch briskly behind the large ears. "Sirius."

The paw on his knee became a hand, fingers lightly gripping. Long, slender limbs curled in the place where the dog had been, and Remus' fingers were now lost in mussy black hair, just grazing a very human ear. He raised his hand quickly, placing it instead on the thin shoulder to shake it. Sirius mumbled something in protest and showed no signs of moving.

"Come on, Sirius."

"Hmph."

He shook the shoulder again. "If you get up, I'll make breakfast." There was no movement, no sound in response. "A big breakfast. Whatever you want."

One of the legs stretched out, and Remus heard a generous yawn. "Whatever I want?" The voice was scratchy and hoarse with sleep. Remus smiled as Sirius raised his head and squinted against the light, nose wrinkled, mouth twisted in sleepy dissatisfaction.

"Good morning," Remus said. Sirius nodded grumpily, closed his eyes, and sat up more fully, stretching his arms and legs. "Thank you for staying with me."

"Wouldn't have thought of doing anything else," Sirius mumbled. Another yawn.

"I'm going to stay with you at Grimmauld Place."

Now where had that come from? His mouth hadn't even bothered to confer with his head. Out of nowhere, he had just invited himself over to live with Sirius. Never mind that he had a house already, that certain days were far in the past, that Sirius might not want an impoverished werewolf taking up a bedroom in his house. Then again, judging by the way Sirius slouched against the wall with his hair hanging down in front of his face, he might be asleep.

But Sirius turned quickly to him, eyes wide, looking very much awake. "You are?" He sounded like a little boy whose father had just promised him a new broomstick. Then the blue eyes darkened, blinked, and glanced away. "No. No, you don't want to live there, Remus. It's rotted inside and out. Even the House Elves were evil."

"So we'll clean it."

"It's not just a matter of cleaning. It's the past. Everywhere, like a great, ugly mold."

Remus stared at him in silence, then reached out and tentatively brushed the long strands of hair aside, studying the faint lines on a face that was in equal measures familiar and foreign. He knew the younger version of this face all too well. He had memorized every detail of it. Now he was trying to understand what had come to replace the face he knew, the man he had loved. Sirius laid a hand over his, startling him. He tried to draw back, but Sirius did not let go, looking at him instead through eyes that hadn't changed, even if some of the life in them was gone.

"But not everything about the past is bad, is it?" said Remus quietly.

Sirius shook his head, lowering their hands. "No, not everything was bad. But the good parts all seem to be gone. Or..." He hesitated. "It seems that certain people don't want to remember the good parts, even though I do."

It was there. Something they thought they had lost, but it was only misplaced. And if they just looked a little, searched very carefully with a bit of patience, they could find it again. They would find it again. Remus leaned forward and kissed Sirius lightly. The search could begin here. Another kiss, searching with his eyes closed. Quickened heart, long hair in his fingers, morning breath happily ignored.

"We're going to find it again," he said, as if Sirius knew what he meant.

"Don't move to Grimmauld Place," muttered Sirius, still kissing him, "if you expect to have your own bedroom."

As chance would have it, he expected no such thing. It was rude enough to invite oneself over, but completely out of line to make demands like that.


End file.
